


Under the Stars

by Baneberry



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Comedy, Crack, F/F, Humans With Alien Girlfriends Make Do, Oral Sex, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Reader-Insert, Transformers Plug and Play Sexual Interfacing, Xenophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-22
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2019-01-21 04:29:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12449706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baneberry/pseuds/Baneberry
Summary: Forget jetpacks. Forget hover cars. Forget rocket skateboards. You are no longer a little girl, but an adult, and in love with the most eccentric and strangest person on Earth.Because she isn’tfromEarth.





	Under the Stars

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: "(idw)Windbade/F!Human reader, with Windblade having pnp interfacing hardware. Maybe they arent quite sexually comparable but were there's a will there's a gay."
> 
> I’ve been debating writing this, because I’ve never written Character/Reader stuff before. Thought I’d give it a try. Honestly it was the “where there’s a will there’s a gay” line that hooked me. So amused, I had to give it a shot.
> 
> Per all my stuff involving xeno, I try to omit most details on physical description, etc. Especially on this one. Have fun with your imaginaaaaation.

Perhaps as a child or adolescent, the idea of dating and marrying and doing naughty, unspeakable things with an alien robot twice your size seemed plausible and easy to imagine coming true in the far, fancy future of Adulthood.

Adulthood has come to you now, and you could be complaining about how the future is nothing like you wanted. Nothing idyllic like in those cool scifi movies and adventure fantasies. You could, but you can’t, because apparently you decided to roll the dice and just so happened to win this gamble. A one in a billion chance–and it was yours, and it was wonderful.

Forget jetpacks. Forget hover cars. Forget rocket skateboards. You are no longer a little girl, but an adult, and in love with the most eccentric and strangest person on Earth.

Because she isn’t _from_ Earth.

“How was work?” Windblade asks you, transforming from jet mode and landing softly at your side, not wanting to disturb the earth too much. She tries to keep a low profile, though you know she enjoys showing off sometimes. Fortunately no one else is around–just you two, outside a lovely cabin in the woods under the stars and tree canopies.

“The same,” you reply, placing your baggage and camping gear inside the cabin. There were, of course, some difficulties, being in a relationship with an alien robot. Compromises must be made.

It was a good night; cool, cloudless. Windblade couldn’t sleep inside, even if she wanted to. So you opt to take out the sleeping bag and set it up while Windblade makes a fire–snapped up branches from trees in the blink of an eye, dropped them in a pile, and lit them aflame with a careful, restrained pulse from her gun.

Marvelous. You thank your lucky stars, which might be the ones haloing Windblade’s decorative head right now.

Watching Windblade work, her swiftness, her strength and agility, you already start to feel a tingle between your thighs, tighten in your groin and tickle your belly. But this is one of the reasons you have brought your strange girlfriend here after all. Not like you can hide much from Windblade; she stops, head tilted toward the air, then grins slowly. Such seductive red lips, you want to kiss them and lick them and do so many other things to them, and you wish there was a way you could smear the paint. Like lipstick. Smeared lipstick on her exhausted face after you’ve fucked her raw. That’s the dream, and you’re mostly living it.

“I see, I see,” Windblade hums. She walks around the fire, standing before you nervously clutching and pawing at the bag beneath you. Yeah, the plan was to fool around, but you wanted to make this a little more subtle… But too late, because now Windblade’s kneeling, leaning forward, and using a single finger to gently brush your cheek. You shiver, nuzzle against her touch. The metal that makes up her flesh is not like any material on Earth; it’s sturdy, but softer, warmer. It’s weird, and you love it.

“Quiet night with a sky full of stars,” Windblade smirks, “you charmer.” She moves her face even closer, and when she speaks, you can smell sweet energon and feel the humid cycled air on your slick skin. “Want me to take you again?” she asks, voice a low purr.

God, yes. Always, yes. “I do,” you say, inhaling, tremors in your hands and loins, “but I want to make you feel good too.”

Windblade cocks a browplate at you, but it nevertheless amuses you.

“I know our last time… ‘interfacing’… didn’t go too well, but I got an idea.” You stand, running over to the big van you drove up in. It’s like a soccer mom tank. “We’ll be using this.”

Windblade laughs. “Should I be nervous?”

You laugh with her. “Of course not,” you reassure. “I’d never hurt you.”

“Nor I you,” Windblade sighs, crawling out on her knees and stomach, til she’s in front of you on her elbows. One hand cups your body from behind, pulls you over. You feel the air she’s venting, not only from her parted lips, but the seams in her armor. Hear engines hum and machinery whir. Windblade is a work of art; she is the most beautiful, gorgeous creature you’ve ever seen. You want to touch every part of her body, to explore her inside and out, because she is yours, and you are hers.

You know Windblade feels the same. Your heart skips. You couldn’t be luckier. And before you might’ve just settled for a one night stand in the past.

“Let me taste you first,” Windblade groans, thirsty, her blue optics tinted violet. Dimly set so they don’t blind or burn you, just bathe you in their beautiful glow. She pokes your clothes and tugs at them with a finger, and you playfully slap it away, undressing quickly–you, too, have been waiting for this for days now. When you are fully nude, you clear your throat and stumble back, pressing into her palm and lounging your arms across the top of her hand. You pose, elegant but sexy, not embarrassed but a tad cold. Your ears and cheeks are hot and flushed, but you hold Windblade’s complete attention.

“Damn,” she groans, her frame shivering. You can feel those trembles vibrate in the earth a little. “Not gonna hold back now, sorry…” she grumbles, determined. You squeak as she takes your feet in her fingers, causing you to plop down on your bare ass. She holds your legs open, spread eagle, admiring your pussy, your lips fully engorged. You’re wet, you’re needy, and you’re revvin’ to go.

Windblade licks her lips. Your thighs twitch, pussy walls fluttering with need, the ache in your belly becoming unbearable. Windblade shoots you one last grin, and then she leans forward. Just the tip of her tongue–malleable, wet with safe energon (not only her saliva, but perfect lubricant)–and laps at your folds. You chew your bottom lip, repressing moans, yet buck desperately against the exploring muscle–actuator. Whatever they call it, it sure feels good.

Windblade continues teasing you with just a few casual licks, at first. Never hard or long enough to build a rhythm. It’s frustrating, and she can tell. She likes it when you wiggle and whine and try not to beg for more. But you’re getting damn near close to sobbing for it. Windblade loves you, and she is merciful, thank whatever robot God created her, and soon she is holding your legs open firmly, but carefully, and going to town.

“Oh, fuck!” you scream, hands clawing at your scalp, head thrown back. You twist and jerk, unable to move your lower half in her large hands. The edge of her tongue is thrusting up inside your pussy–not like a dick, not like any toy you’ve ever used. She finds your clit and loves it by licking licking licking licking, picking up the pace every few minutes. The slurping noises resound in your ears. You cry and tear your fingers in the ground, dirt caked beneath your nails. Windblade watches you, amused and mischievous; she has you.

“W-Windblade!” you moan, rocking back and forth. You can’t see straight. You’re drooling, and it’s suddenly hot for a chilly night. You can’t stop the tears that pinch free. You cry, shedding more as a giant finger rubs and massages both of your breasts, rolling the nipples. God, it feels so good; nothing can describe what you’re feeling, nothing, and your mind’s white noise and static and you’re bouncing like some shameless ~harlot~ on your robot girlfriend’s mouth and fingers.

To make matters “worse,” she daintily closes those pretty lips you so badly wanted to ride and smear and ruin between your legs and suckles. She need only use a little force, still applying her tongue. Windblade’s let your legs go now, and you clamp them against her cheeks, toes curled and cramping. Her optics are shut, and she’s moaning in pleasure, so happy to get you off. So happy to taste you wanting and needing her.

“Windblade,” you gasp, blindly grabbing at her helm. Her nose bobs and rubs against your stomach. She purrs and you choke on another gasp. Her finger very carefully massaging your tits has moved beneath you, lifting your lower half off the ground. Windblade takes one of your legs again, holds it open; she guides her tongue down, down, until it’s between your cheeks, coaxing at your hole. But she’s not forgotten your pussy; no, the crazy technologically advanced robot from outer space is alternating between licking your ass and pussy and taint and shooting off those vibrating hums.

You see stars, and not just the ones above your head. Windblade drags her tongue up your quivering belly, between your breasts, lathering your nipples in the coolant, before going back down on you. You give a mantra of oh fuck oh fucks, your oh so tiny hand crudely grasping and fondling a breast, grinding down on the hard nipple with your palm.

“I’m coming!” you wail out. “Oh, fuck, I’m com–coming!”

You do come, and for a split second, your body is stiff and your mouth is locked open and your eyes cross and then you scream because holy shit. You squirt in Windblade’s mouth, on her tongue, and it isn’t much, but she swallows and drinks it like it’s rare, antique wine, the finest flavor in the world. She’s revved up from watching and pampering you, suckling your cum off her elegant tongue.

You lie there on your side, panting, recuperating. Windblade is patient, though; her chassis is so hot, you know she’s burning, needing to work off a charge. But she doesn’t push you. She even offers to get you water, but you refuse. “I wanna try m-my thing now,” you croak, clearing your throat and wiping drool and tears sticky and drying on your face. The wetness between your legs doesn’t bother you, and Windblade watches the way light catches the fluids on your delicious thighs so beautifully

You know basic car mechanics. You’ve been doing some studying–for yourself, and then, for your girlfriend. You’ve brought special tools for this special night. You clamp the two cables on the motor engine; fitted with plenty of tubing. Windblade sits there, preening for you, wings flicking with interest.

The clamps are lager than average, but nothing you haven’t handled or seen before. The engine is the important part. “Now,” you say, smug, hugging a clamp under each arm and leering, “you open up for me.”

Windblade looks confused, but she shows you the same respect. Two sockets on her chest and a socket on each of her inner thighs open. Each socket has a protractible cable. “One from your chest, one from your thighs–your favorites, if you got any,” you order.

“Actually…” Windblade extends her left chest cable, and right thigh cable. “Not too difficult. Nice balance, I’m sure, for… whatever you have planned.”

“Tell me if this hurts,” you instruct, shutting one clamp on the thigh cable’s socket opening. Windblade shakes her head. “Good. Lift me up?” You wait, the Seeker lowering a hand; you step on it, and she raises you to her chest. Barely enough cable left on the second one, but just enough to click the clamp on the socket there as well. You opt to slide down the cable a little before landing on the ground on your feet and tumbling.

Windblade chortles. “You tried.”

For now, you smirk. You open the driver’s door, keys already in the ignition. “You ready to rock and roll?” you laugh.

She does her impression of an air guitar. Still needs lots of work. You take a deep breath; this big puppy’s engines should do just fine, but you hope no one short circuits. You don’t wanna pay any fines or… hospital bills? Nonetheless, you count down from five–turning the key in the ignition, and start the engine.

Immediately, sparks fly. Electricity and energy shoot up the cables, into the alien tendrils they’re connected to. Windblade squeals, jumping and falling back against two wilting trees. She vents, optics flickering, and you are immediately terrified.

“I’m gonna stop!” you yell over the growl of passing energy.

“N-No!” Windblade begs. Her optics are rolling back into her head. “Solus, so… so good…”

You think a moment. You remember all that teasing, and a dirty thought comes to mind. You climb into the driver’s seat, and ease off the engine. The flow is cut down, gentler now, and Windblade whimpers, grabbing at her head. You can’t help but chortle. She hears you, scowls and whines. “Oh, n-not fair,” she sulks.

“You like it rough, don’t you?” you ask, grinning ear to ear, proud and powerful.

Windblade sucks on her bottom lip. “Y-Yes,” she vents, defeated.

You feel akin to a god, controlling this alien’s body. You watch her roll and struggle, plead for more and cry. Robots could cry, apparently; coolant, they said. The way her chest bounces with each jolt–almost sculpted like a mammal. Human breasts, specifically, of the feminine kind. As you watch her, going on and off on the engine flow, you think how interesting it would be–if under all that armor and plating was just an alien of flesh and bone like humans. Maybe more like goo.

You are fucking a jet from space–sentient goo would not surprise or frighten you at this point.

Their kind, your kind, they weren’t too different. The idea of your big girlfriend having big tits with big nipples gives you another thrill down south. God, you’d love to snuggle between those warm breasts. You’d love to get a hold of a nipple, pop it in your mouth and suck, suck, suck on it like delectable candy, until she begs you to be fair, to pamper the other nipple as well. Maybe she even has a vagina hidden away; doesn’t even know about it, the purpose it serves. You think how nice it’d be to be the first to help her explore her whole new parts. Go arm deep in her red and white pussy, play with her clit so carelessly Windblade would swear to be your slave until death do you part.

No, this is too purple-y. You’re thinking borderline campy paperback romance novels. Are you Fabio? ‘Cause she certainly ain’t.

Hell, what if Windblade had a robot dick too? Oh, the possibilities, the things you could do to her pretty cock. Rubbing your pussy along the slit, taunting her.

But you didn’t like hurting Windblade. Not any more than what she asks and consents for. But man; to watch her use her brand new, untapped virgin pussy on something big and phallic. You laugh, suddenly thinking of a large rocket. Just Windblade grinding and fucking on a rocket’s head; people would be so confused, gobsmacked, but the longer they watched… Well, they’d calm down for sure.

Windblade on a cock. A cock she takes so deep as you stand between her open legs. Windblade’s on display for you. Asking if you like what you see. If you’re enjoying the show. If you want her to go slower or faster. If you want her to take another cock in her mouth. Do you like the way she sucks it down, the way it presses inside her cheek, her gulping, her desire for your approval? Her need to be covered in cum and then lay down while you wash and bathe her, praising her hard work?

Then, it comes to an end–that type of coming, too. Windblade overloads, yanking out the clamps. If the engines got her full overload, the car would break down. Literally and figuratively. She drops the cables, still nested against bending trees.

“Oh, Solus…” Windblade breathes, shaky fingers closing the sockets on her chest. The ones on her thighs snap shut.

You switched off the engine, remove the key, slide out of the truck. “Was it good for you?” you ask. You are nervous. You hope you didn’t scare her. You approach her slowly, gently, a hand reaching out to touch if possible.

Windblade smiles at you, fatigued. “It was… e-exhilarating,” she coos. Your heart skips a beat again, and you run the rest of the way over. Electricity still pops and quivers in the air, stands all the hairs on your body on edge. You don’t care; it tickles if anything. You hop in the inviting hand by her head. You wrap around the side of her face, like some sort of spoon, petting at flexible metal and over a thin seam, the hooked tip of her ceremonial eye marking. Her optics are warm above your head.

“Must recharge,” Windblade mumbles sleepily.

“I need to sleep too,” you state. You’re reluctant to leave your nook, but you need to get ready for bed. It isn’t very cold; no need for fire. S’mores can wait. You’re not even that hungry, having eaten on the drive here; not even after that romp in the woods. You use the rest of the bottled water you’d been sipping on to give your legs and pussy a quick wash. It would suffice. You drink some more water, hydrate up. After kicking and throwing dirt onto the flames, leaving behind heavy smoke that tingles your nostrils, you grab your sleeping bag and drag it back over to Windblade.

Windblade remains in the same place as before. She helps you put the bag in her hand, against palm and the side of her face. You don’t even bother crawling inside, just rolling over and wiggling down until you’ve reached her top lip. You kiss her tenderly.

“Goodnight, Windy.”

Windblade nuzzles you back.

“Goodnight, love.”


End file.
